Answer Me - Bangtan BoysBTS
by celesteavonne
Summary: Being with Taehyung means Seokjin gets to fall in love with him over and over again. But it's the consequences of falling that may break his heart.
1. Chapter 1

"We did things that we never would have thought to do if not for love. What changes the world is love."

Na Jung, _Reply 1994_

 **August 2012**

"All right, whose turn is it for dishes?"

From the common room, silence. Almost silence. He hears the tinsely jingle of _Mario Cart_ and a muffled giggle.

Seokjin continues to chop the onions, pausing for a moment to wipe his nose with the back of his hand. He could threaten to stop cooking for them, but they'd see that for the dirty lie that it is. He loves cooking almost as much as he loves eating, and sometimes his love for eating scares him.

Cooking seems an even rarer pleasure since their days are packed end-to-end with dance practice, rehearsals, and lessons. So he sits cross-legged on the floor, dicing carrots, slicing onions, and dreaming of a larger kitchen.

Whispers rustle from the common room, followed by a smack and a groan of pain.

"Yah," Seokjin calls. "Who's night for clean up?"

"Yoongi's," someone answers. Possibly Jungkook, though it could be Taehyung. Anyway, they're lying. It was Yoongi's turn on Friday.

As if conjured by the sound of his name, Yoongi shambles into the kitchen, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"What do they want?" he grumbles.

"They said it's your dish night."

Yoongi opens the refrigerator. Closes it. Coughs. "Who did?"

"Maybe Taehyung?" Seokjin says.

Yoongi grunts and disappears around the corner. Seconds later, the common room fills with shouts and laughter as the maknaes scramble out of Yoongi's path. Maybe two minutes later, Yoongi returns, wearing a pleased smirk on his sleep-creased face.

"It's Jimin's turn," he says.

"Ah, Jimin," Seokjin says. He plunks the carrots into a bowl and pulls himself up to the stove.

"Tell them you won't cook for them," Yoongi suggests.

"Yeah," Seokjin laughs. "Right." He douses a skillet with oil and sets the burner aflame.

Yoongi opens the fridge, drinks straight from the carton of orange juice, and replaces it on his shelf. He says, "You're the hyung, hyung. Make them obey you."

Seokjin scrapes the onions into the hot oil and wrinkles his nose. "I'm your hyung, too. You make them obey."

Yoongi's head bobs, once. "Sounds fair."

"Yeah?" Seokjin feels like this is far too easy. He's struggled with balancing kitchen duties and the rest of their activities since the day, when gathered around some table playing some team-building game, Seokjin revealed that he likes cooking. Seokjin instituted the rotating dish night policy when cooking and cleaning for seven people took a lot longer than he initially bargained for. So far, only Hoseok, Yoongi, and Namjoon consistently took their turns.

But Yoongi looks serious, and the maknaes do kinda fear him. Except for Taehyung who doesn't seem to fear anyone.

"Sure," Yoongi says. Again, the single head bob. "It's a deal."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah, yes, indeed it's fun times, fun times."

 _Sure Shot_ , The Beastie Boys

 **September 2012**

"Who's turn for—?" Seokjin shouts, but before he's finished, Taehyung appears at the sink.

"Dishes," Taehyung says. "Me."

Seokjin prods the sizzling chicken with a spatula. "Again?" he asks.

In lieu of an answer, Taehyung says, "We need music." He pulls his phone from his pocket and queues up a song Seokjin's never heard before, something discordantly American. He proceeds to hop-dance around the kitchen, shouting the few English words he knows into a kitchen spoon.

Seokjin laughs, he can't help but laugh, and Taehyung takes this for encouragement. He arches against Seokjin, pinning him to the counter. Taehyung offers the spoon-mike at the song's refrain, and even though Seokjin doesn't know the words, he yells along, matching Taehyung's volume if not his pitch, which can only be described as shrill.

Hoseok and Namjoon materialize from opposite sides of the dorm, each wearing expressions of equal parts consternation and alarm. Then Hoseok recognizes the song and leaps into the dance while Namjoon observes from a safe distance, muttering occasional warnings when Taehyung and Hoseok come too close to colliding with stuff. But after a few seconds, even he succumbs to the beat, trading his leader's demeanor for a kind of infectious, frenetic flailing.

Seokjin watches the reckless flapping that has overtaken his kitchen. He's torn between observing the spectacle and keeping the chicken from burning. Because the space is too small for them to join in, Jimin and Jungkook hover in the doorway, grinning as Hoseok and Namjoon croon the last notes of the song into Taehyung's spoon.

As the music fades, Jimin skirts Namjoon and tries to take Taehyung's phone from his hand. They begin bickering over what to play next while Hoseok leans over Seokjin's shoulder to peek into the pot of gently boiling water.

"Noodles?" he asks, hopefully.

"Vegetables," Seokjin says.

"Ugh, again?" Namjoon groans.

Affecting an MC's persona, Seokjin says into his spatula, "Anticipate a delicious, healthy soup. But don't hate the chef, I just work here."

Hoseok clicks his tongue. "Smells good, anyway."

Jimin manages to wrangle Taehyung's phone from him, and the three maknaes crowd around it, arguing over song selection.

"Hyung, when will it be ready?" Jungkook asks.

Seokjin fishes a bit of carrot from the boiling water, but before it can properly cool, Taehyung swipes it, popping it immediately into his mouth.

Amidst everyone's protests, Taehyung shouts, "It's hot."

" _Pabo_ ," Namjoon cries. "He just took it out of the water."

"But is it done?" Jungkook asks.

Taehyung alternately chews and blows to cool his tongue. "It's crunchy," he says.

"Not done yet." Seokjin pets Taehyung's shoulder. "Everyone out, now. I need this space to work the magic."

Namjoon and Hoseok spread their arms to herd the maknaes from the kitchen, and they go somewhat willingly, though Jimin and Jungkook are still glued to the playlist on Taehyung's phone. Taehyung trails after, and Seokjin thinks—maybe hopes—that he looks a little dejected. So Seokjin catches his wrist and tugs him back.

"Not you," Seokjin says. "You're on dishes, remember?"

The way Taehyung brightens, like he's the first pick for a team in gym when he was resigned to be the last, gives Seokjin's heart a painful squeeze. Taehyung is still in high school, and from what Seokjin has gathered from their conversations, Taehyung protects Jimin. Jimin's the new kid; the one with the awkwardness and the baby fat. Jimin's the one struggling to fit in, but Seokjin wonders if maybe Taehyung is, too.

Taehyung takes up a set of chopsticks and beats a rhythm along the edge of the sink.

He says, "They took our music." Then he taps the chopsticks across Seokjin's fingers, up his arms, over his shoulders, and along his neck. Seokjin squawks as he tries to fend him off, but there's no escape because the kitchen is so damn small.

"Yah," Yoongi moans from the doorway. His eyes are so puffy, they're almost fused shut, and his hair is a disheveled fluff upon his head. "Must you be so loud?"

And Taehyung points to no place in particular and goes, "But they—"

And Seokjin says, "But we—"

Yoongi gives them the stare of death. He says, "When will dinner be ready?"

"Soon?" Seokjin says. He looks at Taehyung, who still brandishes his chopsticks.

Taehyung folds his hands around them and bows like some kind of utensil knight. "Soon, hyung," he agrees.

Yoongi grunts. He squints at them before padding back to their bedroom, trailing a long, withering sigh in his stead.

And behind his back, Seokjin and Taehyung dissolve into laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

"If you need something desperately and find it, this is not an accident."

Emil Sinclair

 _Demian_ , Hermann Hesse

 **October 2012**

Namjoon stabs his straw into the slushy ice of his frozen mocha, hoping to dislodge one of the chocolate chips from the clump at the bottom of the cup. Choi Seonsaengnim nods his approval and shoulders his pack. They walk, side by side, among the crowd of tourists and shoppers scattered throughout Myeongdong plaza. Against the brightly-lit storefronts, Mr. Choi appears plain and disheveled in his tweed jacket and cuffed gray slacks. His glasses were probably new during the Great Labor Action, and they make him look like a keenly-interested stick insect observing the antics of all the silly humans.

"So you're doing well, Joonie?" Mr. Choi asks. "You look as though you've been working hard."

Namjoon knows it's a compliment and a caution, and he takes it as both. "I have been, sir, and I'm well, thanks. We have a good group, I think. Really, they're extraordinary."

The crowds jostle and buffer around them, but he and his teacher keep their pace, heading south toward Namsan Park. Mr. Choi says, "You've told me about the others, but what about the new ones? How are they faring?"

Namjoon continues to fiddle with his straw. "They're settling in, I think. Seokjin finally moved into the dorm, and did I mention Taehyung, the one from Daegu?—"

"—Yes, I believe so—"

"—And now we have Jimin, from Busan. He's young, but he's very, very good," Namjoon says. "He had a rough start, I think. Maybe the roughest. I heard he was a big deal in Busan, and here, he's still fighting for his place. Our maknae, Jungkook, he's... well, he's good at everything, just _everything_. I think Jimin's used to having that title for himself."

Mr. Choi pauses at a corner, lighting long enough to let a family with a stroller pass by. When they start walking again, he says, "As their leader, how can you keep them from fighting over who is the best and the strongest?"

Namjoon glances to meet his teacher's eyes. He understands that this is a pointed question. Like most of Mr. Choi's questions, it's aimed at getting Namjoon to think, to problem-solve, to look for connections beneath the surface. It's one of the reasons Namjoon seeks out Mr. Choi's counsel beyond the classroom. He listens to Namjoon and not only values his opinion, he encourages him to voice it.

It's several paces before Namjoon answers. "We have our mission," he says. "To change the world with meaningful music. With _our_ music."

Mr. Choi nods. His eyes gleam huge behind his lenses.

Then, Namjoon smiles because he knows this isn't the answer to Mr. Choi's question. He digs deeper. "We have each other," he says. "We rely on each other. For everything. We do fight, all the time, but we listen to each other, and we talk."

Mr. Choi adjusts the strap of his pack. The weather feels like the thin skin of a pear, delicate and soft. The scents of honey skein and roasted squid waft on the breeze and golden gingko leaves skitter on the pavement. Namjoon finds it easier to breathe today. He looks forward to these appointments with Choi Seonsaengnim, especially now that Namjoon is close to graduating. He likes getting out of the dorm, taking the subway on his own, feeling the thrum of the city around him, that pulse-deep energy reminding him he's alive.

And Mr. Choi understands Namjoon's struggle. His teacher remembers the Namjoon of before, when he didn't want to be alive, when he thought of the world as a trap full of dull teeth. Mr. Choi was one of the first to read Namjoon's songs, and rather than dismissing him as an angst-fueled teenager, he treated Namjoon like what he had to say was important.

For a sixteen year old struggling with identity, Namjoon needed that kind of sounding board, someone who would listen without judgment. Now that Namjoon is older and in a position of responsibility, Mr. Choi's thoughtful guidance is even more invaluable.

They come to the end of the long, narrow street, and from the crosswalk, they can see Namsan Tower glowing like a golden lantern above the twilit city. Mr. Choi says, "Oftentimes, a group will create a kind of internal code, something that binds them beyond the rules of normal society."

Namjoon brightens with excitement. "Actually, we have that," he says. "We've talked about exactly that. Seokjin and I, when we first started with the company, we talked about having consequences that apply to us all, equally, no matter what. And me and Yoongi, we've talked about never having secrets. If the others come to us in confidence, we've promised to tell each other, so that we can share our problems as a group. Then Hoseok, he's like our cheerleader. We can all go to him when we need to feel better."

"Your instincts are good, Joonie," Mr. Choi says.

Namjoon turns onto Samil-daero, guiding them back toward Chungmuro station. He wants to believe that what Mr. Choi says is true, but he worries constantly that he's getting it wrong, that he's too rational and distant to be the leader the members deserve. It's this anxiety that pushes him into late nights and long weekends in the studio. It rips up his sleep and gnaws at his appetite until he feels oddly hollow inside.

Mr. Choi catches his elbow and pulls him to a stop. He says, "You've already done something it takes others years to master, Namjoon. You've learned how to delegate. By doing this, you've instilled a sense of trust in your hyungs, and together, you'll set rules for the others to follow."

Namjoon dips his head to hide his blush. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Mr. Choi says. "Bang Shi-Hyuk is a wise man to put his faith in you."

Namjoon cannot find fault with the first half of this statement, and he will work to the bone to prove the second half true.

But rather than agree outright, Namjoon mumbles, "Dunno how smart he is... he still won't let us date girls."

And Mr. Choi laughs in his reserved manner, the sound of a man who understands one man's point, but solidly agrees with the wisdom of the other.

"So," Mr. Choi says, once they resume their walking. "Any idea when you might debut?"

Namjoon chuckles, lightly. This is the question everyone's been asking, and the answer is, sadly, about as complicated as everything else in their lives. But, Namjoon has at least had some experience in answering it. He says, "Sometime in the next year, possibly in the spring."

Mr. Choi whistles. "Long time to wait."

"And a lot of work ahead," Namjoon agrees.

They meander among the street cafe stalls, the scent of garlic fried chicken and fish cakes warming the brisk night air. Once they reach the subway station, Mr. Choi touches Namjoon's shoulder as a means of saying good night.

"We'll meet again in November," he tells Namjoon.

"Yes, sir," Namjoon agrees.

"Until then," Mr. Choi says, and he unshoulders his bag to remove three paperbacks from inside. "I wanted to give you these."  
Namjoon takes the books, caressing each cover in turn. "Thank you, sir," he says. "I can't wait to read them."

Mr. Choi gives Namjoon a nod. "You'll enjoy the Hesse, I believe," he says. "I look forward to hearing your thoughts."


	4. Chapter 4

"Until now, I knew this of myself:  
That if you had thrown yourself down  
Into the lion's den  
My brother, I'd follow you in."

 _Iscariot_ , Walk the Moon 

**November 2012**

It was a year ago in September when Taehyung first met Kim Seokjin.

A year ago, the trainees were in the practice room when the managers brought Taehyung around to meet them. He'd felt tiny and frail among so many sharp-eyed strangers, and he was so far from home that he measured the distance with every single step. Because she knew of the harsh winters in Seoul, his Mom had bought him a fine goose-down coat – candy red and trimmed with fur. Even though it was still warm in September, Taehyung wore his coat like a snail wears a shell, like he carried his home on his back. He's outgrown the coat now, but it hangs in the dorm closet because he can't bear to part with it.

When Taehyung had entered the practice room, the managers signaled for the trainees to cut off the music and come meet the new recruit. There were six older boys then, and one much younger who looked warily inquisitive as he watched them file in.

The practice room smelled of damp heat and kimchi. The older boys crowded in like a schoolyard gang. One of them leaned in to whisper to another, one word, crisply enunciated: _Baepsae_. Both boys chuckled, but the whisperer's laugh was a hollow, bellowy sound, the kind of showy laugh used by game show hosts and used car salesmen.

Before the managers could speak, Taehyung jutted his chin at the older boy and said, "Are you concerned for me? There's no need, because I'm never fake."

The accusation was clear: Taehyung was the real deal, while the whispering boy, for all his broad-shouldered splendor, hid behind the wall of his insults.

Someone in the back cackled. After a second of shocked silence, the rest followed.

And the whisperer... his whole demeanor _shifted_ : the narrow of his eyes, the set of his shoulders, all of it seemed to melt, instantly replaced by a look of relief, like he was glad to finally drop the disguise. He nodded, once, and grinned at Taehyung, showing every one of his perfect, pearly teeth.

The managers introduced them: The wary boy was Jungkook, the maknae. The cackler was Yoongi, from Daegu like Taehyung, and his friend was Hoseok, who had a smile like a cup full of sunshine. Then there was Kido and Hunchul and Namjoon and Seokjin.

In Taehyung's memory, they enfolded him, wrapping him immediately into their huddle. The managers left: _Keep up the good work, we'll check back soon_. _Yada yada yada._

Days or weeks later, the managers brought in Jimin.

Kido and Hunchul were gone by then. Taehyung thought of it like living on a desert island where storms or random monsters would come and pick people off one by one. He already felt a protective pull for those who remained behind, _his_ survivors. He didn't want them to leave, but he also didn't know how he felt about someone new coming in.

Even someone like Jimin. They'd all seen his audition tape. Like, he could dance, but he was all chubby cute and lamb-y sweet. There was such a thing as too sweet, and Jimin... He looked like he was trying too hard.

They'd all said no. Nah, boo, pass. He didn't _fit_.

Yet there he stood in the practice room, a beanie on his head and a starving look on his face, like he wanted the whole world to just _eat him up_.

Seokjin approached him straight away. He said, "They told us you can sing."

Jimin flinched. Jungkook met Taehyung's eye. They knew how this would go down.

Seokjin went, "If you don't sing something, I'll kill you."

Jimin paled. He opened his mouth and the teeniest, breathless squeak came out.

Seokjin laughed, that booming car-salesman laugh, and he slapped the kid on the shoulder. The managers rushed to the rescue: Meet your new member, this is Park Jimin, _keep up the good work, blah blah blah_.

They left him there, in the lion's den, this wide-eyed little dweeb from Busan.

What else could Taehyung do but rescue him?

The next week, Jimin transferred to Taehyung's school, and it was hard work to keep him safe. Jimin had no chill at all. He's all reactions and feelings. It's like he doesn't have a shield, he's just out there, bare and exposed, and Taehyung likes that rawness, even if it makes Jungkook a little twitchy.

Jimin pushed to prove himself, so hard he made even Hoseok look like a slouch, so eventually, finally, the rest of the group came around.

Seokjin moved into the dorm in July. He took over the cooking and organized the chores. In the months that followed, lines were drawn. Alliances formed. As a group, they got a name and a formal lineup. They chose Namjoon as their leader. The seven of them lived together in their dorm, and they began to contemplate their future.

Now it's November, and it's freezing out, but Taehyung's coat no longer fits. During the first week of snow, he squeezed into it, pulling the zipper as far up as it would go, but his shoulders are too wide now, his arms too long. They're closing in on debut, but they still don't have much money. Taehyung knows his parents will send him another coat, but asking them feels like surrender when he's already taken so much.

He's sitting in the floor beneath the clothing rail, not really hiding, but sort of hiding, when a pair of legs appear beyond the dusky curtains of denim and cotton. A pair of hands whip back the hanging clothes, casting them aside with exaggerated flair, revealing Seokjin, dressed in his sleeping clothes, his hair freshly washed and smelling like strawberries.

Without asking any questions, Seokjin joins him on the floor. He drags the clothes back into place, settling them into semi-darkness.

"This is nice," he says.

Taehyung doesn't want to talk; that's why he found this spot in the first place. Seokjin seems to get it, so for a long time, they don't say anything. They can hear the others – Jungkook doing the supper dishes, Hoseok and Yoongi talking about a new Taeyang song. Namjoon's in the shower, and from where they're sitting, they can see Jimin's bare feet dangling from the end of the futon in the common room.

After a while, Seokjin says, "You didn't eat much."

Taehyung goes, "Yeah," and it sounds sulky, even to him.

Seokjin squeezes his knee. "I saved some for you."

And suddenly, Taehyung's fighting tears. Something about the tenderness in Seokjin's voice reminds him of home, and he misses his Mom so much. He's been trying to hide it, but...

"Hey," Seokjin whispers. "It's okay. You're okay."

Taehyung pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Tae-Tae, what is it?" Seokjin asks.

With that, the dam just crumbles. Taehyung spills everything, not only about the coat, but about his family, too, and he goes off on a tangent about being basically owned by the company but winds up somehow talking about how one day they'll all be conscripted into military service and how frightening that prospect seems when he's not even out of high school.

Once Taehyung runs out of breath, Seokjin takes a few seconds to process. Then he goes, "I have a coat. It'll probably fit you." He angles toward Taehyung, pushes both his shoulders back against the wall. Purses his lips. Nods. "You should wear it."

"Hyung, I can't take your coat," Taehyung says, his voice raw and low.

"It's an extra," Seokjin says. "My Mom sent it early for Christmas." The way he doesn't meet Taehyung's eyes makes him think about the other extras Seokjin has but doesn't talk about. Like the expensive shampoo he keeps in a bin beneath his bed, and the new track shoes he got at Chuseok, and the brand new cell phone he received as an early birthday gift. Seokjin's family is well off, and though Taehyung has never thought about it, he's always kind of known. It explains Seokjin's bravado and swagger routine, the default setting for a young man who's used to getting his way.

Taehyung sees now that Seokjin never wore it well. In the last year, the spoiled, rich kid who so intimidated Jimin has all but disappeared. Seokjin now drives Jungkook to school in the morning. He manages their meals, keeps their pantry stocked, and makes sure they attend all their various appointments.

And now, apparently, he also shares his clothing.

Seokjin says, "So...you have a brother, right?"

"Younger. Yeah."

Seokjin bumps Taehyung's shoulder. "Me too," he says. "Older, but still... You'd do anything for him. Wouldn't you?"

"Of course," Taehyung answers. "Anything."

"So that's what it's like," Seokjin says. "Here, with us. We're like brothers."

"Okay," Taehyung says, because it feels right. "Like brothers."

"So, good," Seokjin says. "I'll just get that coat."


End file.
